<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>relentless by dreamsailing</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29286573">relentless</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsailing/pseuds/dreamsailing'>dreamsailing</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, save renjun from this suffering, save the vases 2k21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:28:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29286573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsailing/pseuds/dreamsailing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how Mark loves Jaemin—<i>relentless</i>—that when everything else crashes and burns, he'll always come back running.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mark Lee/Na Jaemin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>relentless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>sigh. congrats NCT for pulling me out of retirement.<br/>i haven't written long fics in almost two years so!!! warning u of rustiness ahead!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh, they’re doing it in the bedroom this time.”</p><p>It’s the first thing Jeno notes upon entering the threshold, what with Renjun’s big ass noise-cancelling headphones atop the scattered papers on the kitchen island. It’s an established indicator that Jaemin’s over. Renjun only ever brings out those hideous headphones on such occasion, and Jeno easily picks it up over the countless times he’s been over.</p><p>“Be glad they are,” Renjun responds, voice laced with tell-tale exasperation, eyebrows pinched together in what Jeno dubs as Jaemin-induced irritation. “I swear to god I’m scheduling therapy if I walk in on them one more time.”</p><p>“You poor, poor soul.” The words roll off Jeno’s tongue now with much less sympathy than the first time they did. He has walked into this <em>situation</em> more times than he'd like to count that the bizarreness of it all has long worn off. “You can always charge Mark with the fees, you know.”</p><p>“Of course, I will.” Renjun says as he rounds to the kitchen to click on the heater and pulling two mugs from the cupboard. “That on top of the moral damages I’ll be filing in court.”</p><p>Jeno laughs good-naturedly while winding his scarf off his neck and laying it on the back of the couch. He deposits himself on one of the stools and clears the papers, stacking them neatly on the side for the time being. It’s quiet for some time with Renjun internally debating which tea to prepare, and Jeno’s ear traitorously strains for the sounds on the other side of the wall to his right.</p><p>A faint groan bouncing against the walls has Jeno and Renjun freezing on their spots. There’s no helping Jeno succumbing to the marbled surface beneath him and burying his face in his arms.</p><p>Embedding how Mark sounds during sex in his ears was never on his list. Never.</p><p>He wonders if Renjun would let him come with to that therapy.</p><p>“I told him that DIY proofing is a sham.” Renjun seethes. “Those dupes won’t work. Not when Jaemin’s always so loud.”</p><p>Jeno’s never had an inkling about the laws governing the universe, but as if Renjun’s words were declarations to manifest the laws of attraction, Jaemin’s moan reverberates throughout the room on cue. Color drains from both of their faces.</p><p>“Do you mind relocating to your room for now?” Jeno asks, <em>pleads</em>, when Renjun joins him with two cups of tea.</p><p>“Please, I’ve been cooped up in my room the entire weekend. I’d go insane if I see the cracks on my ceiling again too soon.” Renjun says before his head snaps towards Mark’s bedroom door. “I’m really going to kill him this time.”</p><p>Jeno could only sigh and reach for his own cup. It’s chamomile. He supposes Renjun deemed chamomile necessary for the <em>occasion</em>. It works miracle in calming his nerves under a minute.</p><p>Jeno wonders if Renjun has put something else in their tea considering how they both manage to remain relatively unperturbed in the next minutes all the while Mark’s name rolling off Jaemin’s lips dance around their ears. Renjun, still, appreciatively motions his headphones to Jeno, which the latter declines with a tight smile. He chooses to reach for his folder and retrieve the floor plan sketches. Might as well get started, with or without Mark.</p><p>He thanks whatever supreme being there is for his and Renjun’s ability to submerge themselves into work in a snap. They start jotting amendments and revisions for their initial draft, pulled new sketches for the floor plan, calendar their schedule for the next three weeks and listed people they’ll be needing to contact. Half an hour passed in pseudo silence, their senses drowned under waves of ideas, the noises filtering in the background no more than static from a television left after midnight.</p><p>It’s easy to lose your senses with your thoughts running on a treadmill, and Jeno savors it. That, until a crashing sound breaks the blockades they have built in their ears, like a torrential rain pouring harshly on the rooftop.</p><p>Jeno catches Renjun squeezing his eyes shut, the pen on his hand almost snapping in half.</p><p>“That’s the third one,” Renjun says through his teeth, “and it hasn't been a year yet.”</p><p>Jeno hums pensively, eyes drawn towards the bedroom door. “Another vase?”</p><p>“An expensive one.” Renjun peers over their mugs. They’re empty now. He collects them and makes to the kitchen again. “I really don’t understand why he insists on buying expensive replacements when they all end on the same fate.”</p><p>Jeno stows the papers to the side again. He can feel the chamomile’s effect wearing off and knows they will be needing another cup before they can resume work.</p><p>Renjun’s on his tiptoes, fingers wading through boxes of tea inside the cupboard. It seems they will forego another round of chamomile, Jeno deduces, as Renjun pushes the box marked as such aside. Perhaps Renjun has mint.</p><p>The notorious door opens just as Jeno makes out “mint” from the box Renjun finally retrieves, his eyes landing on Mark’s expectedly disheveled form emerging from the room. He’s thankfully in a sweatpants, but Jeno could have been more grateful if Mark remembered to put a shirt on. He might as well be one of those pieces they hang in the gallery, what with the intricate constellation Jaemin has generously mapped on his neck down to chest. Jeno can already imagine the streaks of red that must be lining Mark’s back, another masterpiece deserving to be hung, along with the fingertip bruises dotting his hip.</p><p>Mark must be still out of it, considering it takes a solid ten seconds before his brain regards Jeno sitting on his kitchen island.</p><p>“Oh, man, you’re here.”</p><p>“Yeah, for almost an hour already, actually.” Jeno answers, planting his cheek on his palm while he waits for his friend to snap out of it.</p><p>A jitter and a shake of a head later, Jeno witnesses the clouds finally clearing Mark’s mind and focus returning to his eyes.</p><p>“Oh, fuck.”</p><p>“Yeah, you clearly did just that.” Jeno guffaws while Mark scrambles to tame his hair and fix the glasses sitting skewed on his nose. It’s still a mystery how Mark remains bashful everytime despite being caught in the same situation a handful. The way he flushes entirely is quite endearing – for Jeno, that is – which may be the factor why he could never rat him out even though he is sometimes forcibly, but unintentionally (he likes to believe), subjected to an auditory performance of Mark’s tumble in the sheets.</p><p>Well that’s for Jeno. Renjun, however, is an entirely different story.</p><p>“Mark Lee.”</p><p>Jeno fears the mug will break from the sheer force Renjun places it down. But it proves to be sturdy. The only thing that seems to be on the brink of breaking is Mark’s wits.</p><p>“I will fucking castrate you.”</p><p>For someone of small stature, Renjun could sure make some solid threats. Mark knows better than to take them lightly, the shiver that runs down his spine a testament of his fear. Jeno can almost see the cogs in Mark’s brain going haywire while trying to conjure an apology enough to pacify Renjun. Mark has his hands up, palms facing Renjun in surrender. Renjun alone is already a threat, but Renjun armed with a mug filled with steaming liquid? That’s just asking for death. Jeno spectates and waits for the scene to unfold. It’s almost like watching a sitcom.</p><p><em>Ah</em>, Jeno’s brain supplies, <em>this compensates enough</em>.</p><p>“That’s enough, Injun-ah,” Jeno finally calls when Renjun’s only a foot away from Mark. “Mark forgot we were supposed to have a meeting. He was busy rearranging Jaemin’s guts, we understand that.”</p><p>That can hardly pacify Renjun, Jeno’s sure, but he shows to be more amiable tonight. Perhaps it’s still the chamomile working, but he settles on stomping down Mark’s foot. Hard.</p><p>Renjun returns to Jeno’s side, calmly sipping on his tea like he has not just crushed at least two of Mark’s toes.</p><p>“Put some shirt on. I know Jaemin transforms into this magnificent artist when you’re serving as his canvas but for the love of god, I can only witness so much of his artworks before I explode.”</p><p>Mark bounds back to the bedroom before Renjun can even finish his sentence. Jeno fully embodies his being a spectator and laughs heartily. He throws his head back so much it has him almost toppling off the stool. Renjun berates him for it, and the laughter instantly dies in his throat.</p><p>“I already crippled one in this room, I don’t want to deal with another.”</p><p>“Yes sir.” Jeno purses his lips and reaches for his mug, blowing off the steam before letting the liquid touch his lips.</p><p>He steals Renjun a few glances and decides that, yeah, he never wants to be the subject of Renjun’s wrath.</p><p> </p><p>“Mark?”</p><p>The toasts pop just as Mark whips his head towards the door to see Jaemin, in a condition Mark’s sure he was equally in before he jumped in shower. He pauses from pouring his morning coffee and places it safely down the table. He doesn’t trust himself enough to handle boiling liquid at the moment, not when Jaemin’s chest is bear for him to study the marks he’s left last night. He’s been generous, he notes, the number of bruises blooming across Jaemin’s skin screaming just that. Mark’s eyes trail lower, just above Jaemin’s hip where he remembers with full clarity he has—</p><p>Renjun clears his throat and Mark is brought back to the world. He’s reminded Renjun’s in the room, already sipping on his morning coffee. Renjun spares him a look, one he knows can only translate to <em>pull yourself together</em>.</p><p>Mark will have to thank him for that.</p><p>“Hey, what’s up?”</p><p>“I can’t find my shirt.” Jaemin's voice is carried just above whisper, spoken softly as if afraid to break the tranquility brought by the early morning air.</p><p>“Oh, I put it in the wash,” Mark says with a little more bearing, “Just pick and wear something of mine.”</p><p>“Okay.” Jaemin smiles, trying to comb his nest of a hair with his fingers. “Good morning, Renjun.”</p><p>“Morning, Jaemin.” Renjun’s response is spoken against the rim of his cup. His voice is neutral, as always when he regards Jaemin. “Good to see you again.”</p><p>“You too,” Jaemin says with a lilt in his voice. Where Renjun is all calculated response and action, Jaemin balances their interaction with sincerity. It's almost physically painful to deal with, sometimes, if Renjun’s going to be honest. “It’s been what, over a month?”</p><p>“Almost two, actually.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>And that’s also a thing about their interactions, it dies in about maximum of three exchanges. Mark shifts from foot to foot while he waits for the conversation to be carried, but the condensation in their coffee maker rolls down and the air only grows staler.</p><p>“You should go shower now, Jaem.” Mark breaks it for them. He should’ve done it sooner. “Don’t want you to be late for that case observation.”</p><p>“Oh, right.” Jaemin mumbles, eyes flitting from Renjun to Mark. “Right.”</p><p>Mark feels the air returning to normal once Jaemin ducks back inside the bedroom. He glances back to Renjun who’s already halfway through his coffee. The impassive look on his face tells Mark he’ll have to shelve his words for another day.</p><p>He reaches for the toasts instead and places them on a plate.</p><p>“What do you want on your toast today?”</p><p> </p><p>Despite having only roughly four hours of sleep, they make it to the gallery with five minutes more to spare. Of course, the late night manifests on the bags under their eyes. When Jeno finally strolls into the office sporting the same natural eye makeup, Mark jokes they should be dubbed the Three Bear Bears. Jeno says they're just a trio of Panpans, considering the state of their eyes.</p><p>Jeno drops a chocolate bar on Renjun’s desk which the latter eyes suspiciously.</p><p>“I already had breakfast.”</p><p>Jeno shrugs, “You could use the sugar.”</p><p>“Nothing for me?” Mark asks, slumping against Jeno’s back. The latter makes no attempt to shake him off and even leans onto Renjun’s desk to accommodate him.</p><p>“You have your own breakfast supply. I don’t see the need to give you some.”</p><p>“I could use one right now.”</p><p>“Well, sucks for you. I only bought one for Renjun.”</p><p>That earns Jeno a smack on the back before Mark finally gets off him, “Favoritism.”</p><p>“Obviously.” It’s to be expected, Mark concedes, and mirrors the grin curling on Jeno’s mouth.</p><p>Taeyong comes in then, looking far too fresh at eight in the morning. Mark would hate him if he’s not one of the persons Mark adores and genuinely looks up to. It should be illegal to be beautiful and smart and confident and perfect from sunrise to sundown. It’s downright unfair. But Taeyong is a living proof that god, if there is one, really has his favorites. Mark greets him with a squint of his eyes and the older only laughs in response.</p><p>Taeyong scans them all but his eyes linger just a tad longer on Renjun. Then it’s back on Mark, and he’s suddenly being herded to Taeyong’s office at the far back.</p><p>“I assume you guys had a long night?” Taeyong asks as the door clicks shut.</p><p>“Yeah,” Mark does not try to deny. He thinks back to his reflection in the bathroom this morning. These eye bags will cost at least an entire day of hibernation to go away. “We finished at two.”</p><p>“Oh? So Jeno stayed over?”</p><p>“No, he insisted on driving back.”</p><p>Taeyong’s response comes in an understanding hum, dragged a few seconds longer for Mark to know it’s more than just a passive response. He leans against the door while he waits for Taeyong to find whatever it is he’s rummaging among the stack of papers on his desk. When the older finally faces him again, it’s with a clip board. Mark assumes it’s a checklist he’s made on his own for the upcoming exhibit. He takes it as a cue for the meeting to begin and makes his way for the chair by Taeyong’s desk.</p><p>“I take it Jaemin visited last night?”</p><p>Mark doesn’t get himself to sit down.</p><p>The thing about Taeyong is, before he is this gallery’s curator and Mark’s immediate supervisor, he’s Mark’s cousin first. A cousin who, as Mark bewails, knows way too much about his personal affairs than necessary. Taeyong basically watched Mark grow and in the process, became a witness to this decade-long <em>whatever </em>Mark has with Jaemin.</p><p>Mark clears his throat in an attempt to collect himself. “Renjun told you?”</p><p>“Nope,” Taeyong replies with a pop, “I just deduced. Although I must confess Renjun contributed a chunk to this deduction.”</p><p>Mark’s brows knitting together in confusion is enough to have Taeyong continue, “He gets cranky every morning after Jaemin’s visit.” Taeyong explains simply, like Mark should have known of such fact already. “And Jeno tries to handle the situation, which explains the variety of sugar he supplies each morning.”</p><p>Mark tries his hardest not have his jaw falling on the floor. He thinks back to the people who has acclaimed of his cleverness, to his splendid academic records, then back to this conversation with Taeyong which morphs into a sobering reminder how his knowledge always falls short when it comes to things that are supposed to matter.</p><p>He slides down the chair, boneless, as if Taeyong’s words have robbed him of all his energy. “How did you think of that?”</p><p>Taeyong snorts, oblivious to the turmoil churning inside his younger cousin. “I have eyes, Markie,” It’s snarky and Mark would fight him any other day; on days when his head feels other than just a shell, lacking a brain. “Also, it pays to use your head outside of work, you know.”</p><p>“Shut up.” Mark kicks him by the shin under the table and the hiss Taeyong makes is a bit rewarding, it restores him little energy. “Damn, I feel dumb.”</p><p>“So,” Taeyong clasps his hands together and perches his chin on top, “What was it about this time?”</p><p>“I thought we’re finally starting the meeting.”</p><p>“It’s only a little over 8,” Taeyong grins. Mark peers at the clock above Taeyong glumly. “I actually scheduled the meeting at 10.”</p><p>“I was wondering why you dragged me here so early.”</p><p>“Come on, indulge me a little. What time did he arrive?”</p><p>Mark should really stop indulging his cousin if he wants to do away with the lamenting whenever the realization finally hits him that Taeyong knows more than he would like to admit. But when you’re up against round, expectant eyes such as Taeyong’s, there really is little to no room to fight.</p><p>He mentally notes to schedule a call with Doyoung. He’ll have to learn a way or two on how to deal with Taeyong’s charm. But for now, Mark decides to lay his arms down.</p><p>“Around 7.”</p><p>“Oh, so is it a case of a bad break up <em>again</em>?”</p><p>The last word pierces Mark more than it should. “No, it’s not,” he says with a sigh.</p><p>It appears Taeyong has construed the same <em>pattern</em> Renjun insists to be recurring in Jaemin’s visits. The hypothesis posits that whenever Jaemin comes by in the evening, especially on weekends, he’s mostly suffering from a break up. On the other hand, if Mark or Renjun finds him crouched by their door on a weekday, with his white coat crumpled and a vacant expression, it’s likely a patient isn’t doing well or has just passed away. It’s two to three months often, and has been running for almost two years now.</p><p>“What was it this time?”</p><p>“The cardio patient he’s been observing for over a month passed away,” Mark relays ruefully, “It was a baby girl, 7 months.”</p><p>Mark watches Taeyong’s face eclipse. It’s a close replica of what he’s dealt with last night.</p><p>“That’s terrible.” Taeyong croaks after a minute, “How is he?”</p><p>“He seems fine when he left this morning.” Mark recalls. He recalls walking Jaemin to his car and staying until the car disappeared to the curb. His smile was the usual he gives to Mark. He was wearing Mark’s pink sweater, the one he never fails to compliment to whenever Mark’s in it.</p><p>Jaemin’s nagging rings inside his ear once more, how he insists for Mark to have more lighter-colored shirts in his closet, saying his monotone closet’s a bore. What Mark doesn’t tell him though, is that he couldn’t care less about the color of his shirts, moreso when Jaemin’s the one in it, and when he’s splayed across Mark’s equally monotonous sheets.</p><p>“Earth to Mark.”</p><p>Mark comes back to the snapping of Taeyong’s fingers close to his face. He blinks, willing to erase whatever image of Jaemin in his shirt remains in his head. It takes a while, and when he comes to, Taeyong’s already picking up the clipboard.</p><p>“I wouldn’t even ask where your mind went to,” Taeyong words it like it’s useless, like Mark’s head is made of glass and that whatever’s running inside has always been in display. “Anyway, we can start discussing the upcoming exhibit now.”</p><p>“Right.” The shells of Mark’s ears are tinged pink. It’s becoming a habit: his thoughts straying mid-conversation. It’s a bad one he has to rid of immediately.</p><p>“Okay, run me down with what you guys—“</p><p>A knock on the door interrupts and before Taeyong could even ask, the knob twists and the door is pushed open, revealing Yangyang who’s got an all-too-familiar paper bag on one hand.</p><p>“Yangyang.”</p><p>“Hey, hyung.” Yangyang greets Taeyong before turning to Mark, lifting the paper bag he’s got. “Breakfast?”</p><p>And this is what Jeno means by Mark’s breakfast supply. It comes in the form of a bright boy with toothy smile.</p><p>Mark makes a tentative glance at Taeyong whose hand is still suspended mid-air, fingers curled around a pen ready to note what had them burning the candle at both ends. It’s a stretch before Taeyong heaves a sigh. The clipboard and the pen clatter when dropped on the table.</p><p>“Fine, we can have the meeting by the original schedule.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong says only with a tinge of defeat and more of fondness. He juts his chin towards Yangyang who’s still waiting by the door, his smile not dimming the slightest. “He’s grouchy whenever you skip breakfast with him. I don’t want to have to deal with two cranky associates on the same day.”</p><p>Mark laughs. That would be a pain, indeed. So, he grabs his file and tells Taeyong he’ll be back under 30. Yangyang bounds to him halfway, plastering to his side before they reach the door.</p><p>He has always wondered about the amount of sugar Yangyang consumes on the daily, considering how he’s always up and about. Nevertheless, it’s the kind of energy Mark welcomes. Yangyang’s cheeriness is infectious and it’s a good boost to start the week.</p><p>“I got you banana milk today. They ran out of strawberry ones.”</p><p>Mark laughs and lets Yangyang lead the way to the pantry.</p><p>“Thanks, Yang.”</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>If anything, Mark has long since convinced himself it’s his fault. <em>This</em>, whatever arrangement he has with Jaemin, was brought by a moment of weakness. A weakness wrought by years of pining and yearning.</p><p>On nights when the ceiling’s more inviting than the promised peace brought by sleep, Mark replays the night which started it all.</p><p>Jaemin was a mess. It was his third breakup of the year and they were only about to enter the last quarter. Mark led him wordlessly towards the bedroom, knowing better than to ask. His eyes were rimmed red, lips chapped and bitten. It’s a mirror of the Jaemin Mark found outside his door two months ago, and the months before that.</p><p>It was a routine already: how Mark would hand Jaemin a towel and tell him to go shower; how Mark would prepare the pajamas Jaemin always wears whenever he’s over; how Mark trails to the kitchen and fixes him tea, coming back to see Jaemin already seated at the foot of the bed. Jaemin will then have his tea, all the while Mark kneels behind him to dry his hair. When the cup is emptied and Mark has done a thorough job with Jaemin’s hair, he pulls him under the covers and Jaemin easily finds his spot under Mark’s jaw. The minutes are spent in silence. Mark never pries until Jaemin willingly speaks, instead busies himself by playing with the younger’s hair. It usually ends with Jaemin’s even breaths hitting the side of Mark’s neck and the latter shortly joining him in dreamland.</p><p>Mark remembers in detail how they ended on a different route.</p><p>He remembers the weight of Jaemin’s arm across his chest, the pads of his fingers teasing the skin above Mark’s hip just the slightest. It’s feather light—the touch—but it’s more than enough to send Mark’s heart almost leaping out of his ribcage. His senses are suddenly on overdrive, his grip on Jaemin’s shoulder tightening. There’s the sudden assault of peach-scented body wash against his nose followed by the delirious thought of how he loves Jaemin’s skin smells of it. It clouds his mind more, along with how perfectly warm Jaemin is pressed against him, like a furnace. When he comes to, it’s as if an hour and not a second has passed. Time is of no essence once he’s swimming in Jaemin’s irises.</p><p>It’s the only detail Mark misses in this montage: who leaned in to zero the gap between their mouths. Mark wouldn’t be surprised if it was him. He’s just a weak man after all. The weakest when it comes to Jaemin. And that night he discovers his prime weakness being the taste of Jaemin’s tongue and the way his skin burns under Mark’s palm. Mark stored the way his name first fell from Jaemin’s lips, hitched and breathy, in a box buried deep in his chest.</p><p>It was weakness that had Mark pressing Jaemin against his sheets, that had him succumbing to the hunger of having Jaemin’s bare skin against his. He commits to memory the arch of Jaemin’s back, his warmth that almost rivals the summer sun, how his voice breaks when he unravels under Mark’s fingertips. Reason trickled out of Mark with every chant of his name Jaemin made. It was maddening, how everything felt right. That beyond the signs which pointed to nothing but the foolishness of it all, Mark wanted to fight and say this is how it should be, how everything is exactly where they should be: Himself, with his arms around Jaemin, and Jaemin, all sorts of beautiful underneath him, with his lips parted while he tries to bring the air back to his lungs. In an effort to seal the magic for just a minute longer, Mark plants tender kisses on Jaemin’s eyelids. He sweeps the hair out of the younger’s face, sticky with perspiration, and kisses him again and again, eyes squeezed close.</p><p>When Jaemin’s eyes finally yield under the weight of exhaustion, Mark’s feet strike the earth once more. The haze clears and Mark is immediately stricken with sadness. It’s weird, he expected guilt to cripple him the second reason returns to him. But this proves to be worse. It’s a different kind of hurt to finally have the person you’ve been longing for in an embrace, only to consider it nothing short of a mistake later on.</p><p><em>It's a point of no return</em>.</p><p>The centimeters between their bodies suddenly feel more distant than the ocean.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t come as a surprise when he wakes up to cold sheets in the morning.</p><p>Seeing it a mile away doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mark wonders if it’s still a mistake when it’s repeated the second time.</p><p>Jaemin returns a little over a week. His eyes are devoid of tears but his stare vacant. Mark decides he dislikes this even more, hates how there’s not the faintest light in Jaemin’s eyes. But as he parts his mouth to ask what’s wrong, Jaemin’s lips are already against his, insistent, swallowing Mark’s words before they can roll off his tongue.</p><p>It was easy to wound his arms around Jaemin, to cradle his jaw on his palm, to return his kisses with the same fervor. It was easy to strip himself of reason and let his heart take control. The aftermath is a distant future when Jaemin’s hands are trailing down his sides, fingertips leaving flames on their wake like firebrand.</p><p>The routine is abandoned and a new one forged, one which consists of Jaemin being pressed against the door with his legs around Mark’s waist. It becomes a competition of who can paint the other more, and Mark gladly concedes halfway, bearing his neck all for Jaemin. It’s a petty cost to see the light return to Jaemin’s eyes, which glints whenever he manages to coax a groan out of Mark. Everything fades into the background, with Jaemin chanting his name like a prayer the only thing filling his ears.</p><p>“Right there,” The air is knocked out of Jaemin’s lungs when Mark follows through. The way he sinks his teeth on Mark’s shoulder stings. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Mark pulls out almost entirely only to slam back again, the sheer force of it has Jaemin throwing his head back, mouth open in a silent scream, “It’s alright, come. I’ll take care of you.”</p><p>Mark slides his hands further up Jaemin’s ass, leaving more room for Jaemin to stretch his legs behind Mark. He presses their hips together before snaking a hand down to take Jaemin in his hold. He fucks Jaemin in the same pace he moves his hand, fast and unforgiving. When Mark thumbs the slit, Jaemin comes almost violently, painting their stomachs and chests white. It’s accompanied by a barely contained scream and the sound of ceramic meeting the floor. Mark, however, is undeterred, fingers almost buried in Jaemin’s inner thighs as he chases his own climax. He teeters off the edge with a groan muffled against Jaemin’s shoulder and pulls out to spill on Jaemin’s underside.</p><p>Jaemin slides out of Mark’s hold and finds purchase on the door handle for balance while he and Mark try to manage their breathing. His hair is sticking to his face again, but Mark’s hand feels too heavy right now.</p><p>Perhaps it’s the consciousness washing over them how this cannot be simply brushed as another mistake, or a continuation of some sorts of the first one, that makes it difficult for them to meet each other’s eyes.  Or, it’s just another instance when words are scarce while still in the process of making sense of things.</p><p>Mark wants to force a word or two, anything that would replace the suffocating silence that’s blanketing them. But when he makes the littlest step back and something crushes beneath his sole, everything is shelved to the back of his mind.</p><p>He looks down to the ceramic pieces scattered on the floor.</p><p>It's the first of the many vases they’ll be breaking.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>putting this out here so I'll be pressured to finish the second part haha. comments are highly appreciated!<br/>thanks for reading!</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://curiouscat.me/dreamsailing">cc</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>